Damn. He wasn’t going to allow her to take the easy way out. “I’m saying,” she said, gulping against the boulder-sized lump  that had suddenly developed in her throat, “that I cannot be your mistress.”

“What do you call this?” he asked in a tight voice, waving his arm at her.

“I call it a lapse in judgment,” she said, not meeting his eyes.

“Oh, so I’m a lapse?” he said, his tone unnaturally pleasant. “How nice. I don’t believe I’ve ever been someone’s lapse before.”

“You know that’s not the way I meant it.”

“Do I?” He grabbed one of his boots and perched on the arm of a chair so that he could yank it on. “Frankly, my dear, I  have no idea what you mean anymore.”

“I shouldn’t have done this—”

He whipped his head around to face her, his hot, flashing eyes at odds with his bland smile. “Now I’m a shouldn’t?  Excellent. Even better than a lapse. Shouldn’t sounds much naughtier, don’t you think? A lapse is merely a mistake.”

“There is no need to be so ugly about this.”

He cocked his head to the side as if he were truly considering her words. “Is that what I’m being? I rather thought

I was acting in a most friendly and understanding manner. Look, no yelling, no histrionics ...”

“I’d prefer yelling and histrionics to this.”

He scooped up her dress and threw it at her, none too gently. “Well, we don’t always get what we prefer, do we,  Miss Beckett? I can certainly attest to that.”

She grabbed her dress and stuffed it under the covers with her, hoping that she’d eventually find a way to don it  without moving the blanket.

“It’ll be a neat trick if you figure out how to do it,” he said, giving her a condescending glance.

She glared at him. “I’m not asking you to apologize.”

“Well, that’s a relief. I doubt I could find the words.”

“Please don’t be so sarcastic.”

His smile was mocking in the extreme. “You’re hardly in a position to ask me anything.”

“Benedict...”

He loomed over her, leering rudely. “Except, of course, to rejoin you, which I’d gladly do.”

She said nothing.

“Do you understand,” he said, his eyes softening slightly, “what it feels like to be pushed away? How many times do you  expect you can reject me before I stop trying?”

“It’s not that I want to—”

“Oh, stop with that old excuse. It’s grown tired. If you wanted to be with me, you would be with me. When you say no,  it’s because you want to say no.”

“You don’t understand,” she said in a low voice. “You’ve always been in a position where you could do what you wanted. Some of us don’t have that luxury.”

“Silly me. I thought I was offering you that very luxury.”

“The luxury to be your mistress,” she said bitterly.

He crossed his arms, his lips twisting as he said, “You won’t have to do anything you haven’t already done.”

“I got carried away,” Sophie said slowly, trying to ignore his insult. It was no more than she deserved. She had slept ith him. Why shouldn’t he think she would be his mistress? “I made a mistake,” she continued. “But that doesn’t mean I should do it again.”

“I can offer you a better life,” he said in a low voice.

She shook her head. “I won’t be your mistress. I won’t be any man’s mistress.”

Benedict’s lips parted with shock as he digested her words. “Sophie,” he said incredulously, “you know I cannot marry you.”

“Of course I know that,” she snapped. “I’m a servant, not an idiot.”

Benedict tried for a moment to put himself in her shoes. He knew she wanted respectability, but she had to know that he could not give it to her. “It would be hard for you as well,” he said softly, “even if I were to marry you. You would not be accepted. The ton can be cruel.”

Sophie let out a loud, hollow laugh. “I know,” she said, her smile utterly humorless. “Believe me, I know.”

“Then why—”

“Grant me a favor,” she interrupted, turning her face so that she was no longer looking at him. “Find someone to marry. Find someone acceptable, who will make you happy. And then leave me alone.”

Her words struck a chord, and Benedict was suddenly reminded of the lady from the masquerade. She had been of his world, his class. She would have been acceptable. And he realized, as he stood there, staring down at Sophie, who was huddled  on the sofa, trying not to look at him, that she was the one he’d always pictured in his mind, whenever he thought to the  future. Whenever he imagined himself with a wife and children.

He’d spent the last two years with one eye on every door, always waiting for his lady in silver to enter the room. He felt silly sometimes, even stupid, but he’d never been able to erase her from his thoughts.

Or purge the dream—the one in which he pledged his troth to her, and they lived happily ever after.

It was a silly fantasy for a man of his reputation, sickly sweet and sentimental, but he hadn’t been able to help himself. That’s what came from growing up in a large and loving family—one tended to want the same for oneself.

But the woman from the masquerade had become barely more than a mirage. Hell, he didn’t even know her name. And  Sophie was here.